Dont Mince Words

I grew up in a time when sport bras barely existed; certainly not for d-cups. Sneakers didn’t have shock control and they had little arch support. Well, at least not where my parents shopped. These factors, combined with allergies, made me a hater of gym class.

There were two times a year when I really wanted to skip school just to miss gym and that was during those god forsaken Presidential fitness tests. Girls, you remember, the flex arm hang where you’d try to keep your head above the bar. I was good for about three seconds. But my least favorite test was the 440 run. That one lap around the track made my lungs burn, my nose run, my boobs hurt, and my ankles ache. I was never a runner.

Imagine me 30 years later in a fitness bootcamp. I was nearly paralyzed the first day when the major blew his whistle and we started running down Wilshire Boulevard at 6 a.m. My eighth grade anxiety set in. Armed with great shoes and a killer sport bar, I went as far as I could. I could go miles on the elliptical or treadmill at the gym, but there was just something about hard pavement and bus fumes that made it more difficult.

Three weeks later I was at the front of the line up and made it all the way on a half-mile warm up jog around the LA County Museum of Art. I tried to hang back so I wouldn’t hold up the fast people; however, the major pushed me and I was the pace setter.

I made it, but those magical endorphins never arrived to supply me with a runners high. All I could think about was, “wow, my mother could of never done this at my age.” So, my mindset was not back in eighth grade thinking about my 80 pound classmates who could flex-arm hang for 45 seconds. Nah, my athletic competitive benchmark is just living better than my parents.

If that’s the case, I think it’s cocktail hour.

There are certain addictions we find ways to overcome. Diabetics avoid bakeries. Alcoholics bypass liquor stores. I have avoided eBay for the longest time mainly because I don’t want to be a junk shopoholic. I’ve admired the company for years for giving common consumers the confidence they needed to make purchases on the Internet. But I have not bought a thing. Not until I realized I needed a lunch box.

I was shoving my Target plastic “lunch” bag in our over-crowded office refrigerator when a co-worker with a pink unicorn lunch box followed me. That’s when I realized I needed a lunch box that was easy to distinguish.

What pops into my mind? I know those of you that know me figure SpongeBob, Simpsons, or Hello Kitty. No, my mind went somewhere else – back into a time machine.

Back to 1971. I decided I needed to get the Partridge Family lunch box I never got the first time around. At 9 a.m., I was on eBay bidding in an auction that was ending in 45 minutes. I had heard about these last minute bidding wars. All I knew was, it was payday and I was going to get my damn lunch box.

An hour and $52 later I won the lunch box (with Thermos!) and I received an email from eBay congratulating me on my first purchase and inviting me to “find more great items.” Coming down off my shopping high from the world’s biggest yard sale I realized I had to wait for shipping. There was no immediate gratification like I get at a Nordstrom’s shoe sale. That’s why I’ve actually avoided eBay.

Today, 13 days later, I’m the proud owner of an original Partridge Family lunch box. Its arrival was anticlimactic and less of a high than winning a bidding war. Now I’m washed in stress trying to figure out what to pack for lunch tomorrow. I don’t have any fruit roll-ups, Pop Rocks, Spaghetti-O’s, or the fixings for a peanut butter banana sandwich.

In order to cope at work, a friend has decided to channel her strong inner black woman. I now jokingly call her “Nay Nay” which is short for Shanaynay, a character created by Martin Lawrence. Today, after receiving two loser reconnects in one day, I decided I needed to go black too.

Joker #1 called to see if I was available to go out “soon.” Of course, it took me a while to place the voice. Ironically, I had deleted him from my phone last week because I thought it was safe to write him off. No, more than six months after meeting and one call after that, he was calling to ask me out.

“Seriously? I met you six months ago and gave you my card and NOW you are ready to ask me out? Are you joking?” I asked.

He stuttered and realized my offer expired and quickly got off the phone.

Joker #2 left me an offline instant message. We had one date more than two years ago. He drank too many margaritas and wasn’t able to drive, so he spent the night on my couch barfing into my trash can. Needless to say, I didn’t see him again. But tonight he decided to leave me a message letting me know that he was thinking of me and he’d like to see me again.

It wasn’t hard to find my strong inner black woman to respond to this message.

“Seriously? You are contacting me two years post-puke? Really?”

Is it time to adopt a second dog? I’m not sure if I can survive any more LA-induced Post Traumatic Dating Disorders.